


Masked

by wanderingsmith



Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 02:19:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9102130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanderingsmith/pseuds/wanderingsmith
Summary: He was expected to be emotionless.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I ain't got no money, and nobody'd be daft enough to pay me for this. As it is thought, so let it be said; you make the toys, I play with 'em.
> 
> Billy was damned stubborn about talking in a readable sequence... I suspect it's still half-gibberish for anyone not reading through the translator of my head, so, apologies.

He was expected to be emotionless. If he wasn't, if he let it slip, he was dismissed as foolish.

Being dismissed, aside from being infuriating, was also dangerous. It made more people feel brave enough to attack him, and a large enough group of such fools *could* take even *him* down. 

Billy therefor mastered his mask at the same time he mastered the other skills that kept him alive. And he'd slowly, through painful lessons, learned that the only time he could take it off was when he was completely alone; there was not one person on this continent that would not judge him. 

Goodnight Robicheaux made it harder to remember that lesson than it had been for a good decade before he met him. 

 

He trusted his ability to read white men's eyes enough to actually believe the admiration he caught in the bounty hunter. Especially one day, getting ready to take advantage of a river to get a much needed wash a month into their travels together. But if a prostitute that was willing to break her house's rules and service a 'celestial' still turned on him when he thoughtlessly let his amusement show, why would he ever expect a 'southern gent' to be any different. 

The Confederate soldier with the nightmares and the jumpiness that spoke of invisible wounds might actually be as *friendly* to non-whites as he seemed, but that was no reason to believe he wanted them to turn out to be different than he expected - Billy stuck to his lessons. Even as he undressed his new traveling companion, and felt gritty, dry hands stroke gently over his own dirty skin.

And if the reason he kept the mask soon had nothing to do with fear of a 'violent' reaction, well, turned out that fear of losing company that made him feel inexplicably warm, and safer, and.. almost *joyful*, was far stronger than any stubbornness he still had about remaining alive. 

However completely foreign it was to not be alone, he couldn't deny that he now enjoyed life more. The fools in towns, the often rough conditions, they were still annoying, and having someone besides him almost constantly could get on his nerves, but he still went to sleep feeling more at ease than he ever had. Still woke up looking forward to.. well. To looking at the strange man who shared his campsite. And later, his blankets. Keeping that was well worth the small sacrifice of keeping his face still.

 

Goodnight's eyes seemed so very warm, though. His every touch spoke even more words than his lips did, and every one was stamped in respect and appreciation. Even before those touches had turned to bringing physical pleasure.

And curiosity. The questions about himself, then about his homeland and language, had started the very first night, with the tentative carefulness endemic to a land where many were dangerously allergic to discussing their pasts, but once Billy responded calmly, the man exposed an endless curiosity. Combined with what seemed real interest. As though Billy were no different from some white man from a different state. As worth learning about.

Facing those bright eyes without showing emotion was *hard*! Not smiling when he shared his few long-ago good memories, or at Goody trying so earnestly to say a recognizable annyeong haseyo to him over an offered cup of terrible tea while tumbleweeds rolled by in the dry wind, made him ache; made his native recklessness try to overpower his far more recent desire to try to keep something he wanted.

 

He thought -liked to fool himself into thinking- that he was strong and stubborn enough to have held out against Goody's smiles and warmth. 

But he'd been an outsider since he was a child. Had never known intimacy with anyone he so much as actually trusted, let along.. whatever it was he felt for Goodnight Robicheaux that day he walked up to the man as he crouched by his bedroll, apparently too caught up watching Billy undress to manage to hide his look, this time. 

 

There was admiration. For the skill with a riffle that he'd seen the time Billy's sore loser of an opponent came racing after them as they calmly rode out of town, the man's Colt firing wildly. On his own, Billy would have weaved a charge at him until he was in range of a throw. Before he could turn his horse, however, Goody, moving far quicker than Billy had ever seen him do, had his rifle in hand, was standing in his stirrups, upper body turned sideways on his still-moving horse, face turned to unfamiliar flint as he sighted the several hundred yards, and gave a single shot. It was over, the man fallen backwards over his horse's rear, in a few seconds; and Billy's mask certainly slipped. But the man who raised his head from the shot wasn't seeing anything in the here and now, anyway.

There was grief for the wounds the man carried, also seen that day, that never healed and would rip open and swallow him into hell at a dozen different triggers. As well as respect that Goody managed to keep his desire to live and to get to know and care for people while living with the fear and pain. Billy had seen survivors of horrors before, and most ended up unable and, in the end, unwilling, to deal with people. And with life.

There was a warm feeling he couldn't explain for the way Goody was as quick to get offended at hotel clerks and barmen who looked down at Billy, as he was to grumble at Billy for making apparently 'bland' stew. At first the feeling was easily identified as disbelieving suspicion that it was all an act put on for some un-guessable reason. But he couldn't keep a grip on the suspicion much past a couple weeks, leaving him wondering. ...At least until he caught those eyes gliding down his body as though it was a spring in the middle of the desert.

 

There was no confusion about the physical appreciation he felt, however. Rare as it was that his knowledge of how people felt about him got beaten back enough that he bothered to focus on people for anything more than threat-assessment, it was rarer that he acknowledged to himself that one was attractive. But it did happen. And when the southerner's drawl had strolled between three hulking farmers and Billy's tired self wanting nothing but a beer to get rid of the dust in his throat, Billy had not only *focused* on him, but the focus had lacked the buffer of annoyance toward a threat. 

By the time Billy caught on that he'd somehow let someone *in*, they were riding out of town at a sedate trot; Billy's throat well coated and his belly actually filled. And a 'Goodnight Robicheaux' chattering away at his side. 

It *was* the first time since he was a very foolish young man that he woke from a very pleasant dream with the memory of eyes watching him come apart.. only to meet those same eyes. Watching him almost as warmly as the man said good morning as they had been when stroking his dream body. 

It was a new, and not particularly welcome, experience, to fight arousal at quite such frequent random moments of the day. 

Goody laughed entirely too often. Smiled at Billy with bright eyes almost constantly. Moved his whole body as he spoke, fingers flickering as though writing the words in the air, arms pulling his coat and shirts tight as he waved them about. Making the world Billy rode through louder and brighter. Filling it with wild stories and strange words, all aimed at Billy with a smile and a wink and every attempt to lure him.. somewhere.

After they'd ridden a few hours away from that fool that had triggered Goody's defences before Billy knew to watch out for him. When they finally stopped and Billy hurried to catch the shaking man as he practically tumbled from his saddle. When he half carried him as he muttered to himself of death and danger and regret, and sat them shoulder to shoulder against a nearby tree to hold his still-new friend, passing him his flask of whiskey every so often until he somehow pulled himself out of the waking nightmare. As much as Billy was worried, that day: he couldn't help but notice the shoulders he had his arm wrapped around were solid, muscles strong in the arm that gripped his shirt for dear life. 

There was no confusion about why Billy's dreams had changed.

 

It took more practice than Billy liked to remember to get the angle right to jerk off another man. Not that it was anything but pleasant practicing. And Goody was only marginally better at it. 

Kissing turned out to be even more pleasurable than it had been in his dreams. Right up there with listening to his lover moan his name. 

 

Goodnight Robicheaux made it harder to remember that lesson than it had been for a decade, and he was *damn* proud of managing to keep his mask mostly on in spite of the man's apparent best attempts to break him!

 

Interest and practice meant it only took a few days for them both to get very good with their hands, angles be damned. His chin felt almost raw when the wind kicked dust against the skin Goody's whiskers ground into when one or the other of them got insistent. 

And it got even harder to keep from letting what felt like a raging torrent of wild words and expressions from joining Goody's open and unashamed appreciation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> annyeong haseyo - internet says is used for Hello which is used for Good morning. Any Korean speaker who would care to be beta is welcome.
> 
> The other chapters are close to done (well, 3 is done. 2.. a little more slowpokey)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> smut and nothing else

Then one afternoon he was grinding Goody's hips into their blankets, laid over a lush cushion of grass, his cock rubbing tight against Goody's hair-rough belly, Goody's making a good try at bruising Billy's already slick stomach. His shoulders actually starting to ache from keeping himself steady on his elbows, sweat dripping down his face. Trying to keep his eyes open through the pleasure ricocheting up his belly so that he could stare down at the man's features, shaded by Billy's loose hair, tight with the need he was clawing into Billy's hips. 

They had enough supplies to relax, strange an idea as that still was to him, the sun was warm on his skin, their camp was in the open where they'd see anyone coming an hour before they got close; they were taking their time. Had been at it long enough that Goody had given his precious words up for moans, and the coil of orgasm was tightening up at the base of Billy's spine and he was just about to shift position enough to be able to just drive their bodies hard against each other, when Goody arched against him, a hard leg wrapping tight across the back of Billy's to pull him closer, and gave a frustrated whimper as his eyes opened, pleading as they continued to grind against each other, "Want you, Billy, please. Want you to f- God yes! Fuck me."

And Billy's mask fell.

 

He might have dealt with the very sharp need that instantly lashed through him, but the shock was too much. Different dreams he'd started to have as intimacy became a part of his world, but dreams were dreams: he NEVER expected to be trusted enough, even by this man. Had been more than content with the pleasures they gave each other, with hoping it would last.

It was more bite than kiss when he took Goody's lips with a rough groan; past thinking, at that moment, of appearances. Goody's hands on his skull holding him close, as though there was ever a chance he'd pull away a second before he needed to breathe. Finally forcing his head up, seeing lips bruised and still reaching for him, Goody's pale eyes locked on his, Billy's words slipped out before his lover caught his breath to speak, "Yes. God yes!"

He didn't bother thinking on the way Goody's eyes had widened as he slipped down his body, the sweat between them making the move easy, even before Goody's leg relaxed to let him slide. He ran his palm through the mess already pooling on Goody's belly before wrapping it around his heavy cock for a quick stroke. The abandoned moan he got made him smile helplessly and he couldn't help, this time, tilting his head in and laying his mouth along the hot shaft. Hard, but soft on his lips; and if that yell sounded faintly like a warcry, the body wrapped around Billy's wasn't complaining. He'd have kept it at the single indulgence of a taste, but he felt his lover flex against his mouth and couldn't make himself stop, even before he felt Goody's long fingers slip through his hair on a stream of swearwords mixed with what came across as filthy endearments, for all they were mostly unfamiliar. He couldn't hear the birds anymore over Goody. Couldn't think much past taking what *he* wanted.

His fingers remembered more had been offered, though, and he pushed himself up on his free hand to try to give his mouth some control as the other hand let go of Goody and slipped lower. He skated over the tight sack, the cock filling his mouth getting a little harder at even his light touch. His first slip over a wrinkled patch of skin made Goody jerk and he grunted at the dry tug, pulling his mouth off to spit on his fingers, ignoring the whimper of complaint the move caused. Seemed his mouth was definitely not objected to. And when his now-slick fingers found their destination again, the swearing took on a breathy edge. And there was enough give, this time, that he could slip a finger into... hot and tight and smooth and it was his turn to moan, hips jerking his cock down against the blanket for some friction to match his imagination as he sucked at Goody and stroked at that liquid heat. Except a gibbering part of his brain knew if his finger was that tight, no way he could get his cock in, right?? Even sliding a second finger in didn't exactly make him see this working out, no matter how fucking good it was playing with his head. But then he felt Goody's body tighten, stomach to legs to that warm place he wanted to slide into, and then liquid flooded his mouth and he had to pull back to swallow and breathe, almost pushed over the edge as he felt the pulses on his still-stroking fingers. Felt them move much more freely...

As Goody's legs loosened from his back, Billy pushed himself to his knees. It was hard to breathe through the tension locking his body, and watching his lover catch his breath, looking like he'd seen the Christians' Heaven, made the sun stab at his eyes, brighter than it should be.

"Fuck. Billy, god, you-" Goody's voice sounded like he'd swallowed gravel, but the smile he sent Billy was nothing but soft and sated and.. 'adoring' was a word-, "Go ahead, mon cher." 

When Billy still hesitated, his hands nonetheless finding Goody's hips, the man lazily raised his legs to rest on Billy's shoulder. And then caught Billy's eyes getting fixed on the so rarely seen skin, "What?"

Billy's lips quirked very slightly at the utterly relaxed laughter he heard in the question. He was too far gone to consider keeping back his response. "I was picturing your boots." Supple, worn leather that molded to Goody, moving with him even when nowhere near the saddle they were made for. No doubt warm from his skin-

Goody laughed, grinning at him with a joy that made Billy's heart hitch inexplicably, "Willing as I'll always be to indulge any fantasy you'd like, chéri, right this moment I think you have other priorities."

And Billy grinned back, quick and fierce with the surge of reminded desire. He had enough thought left to remember how much better a slick grip felt, and took a breath to get his cock wet before shifting his body to look for the angle, Goody's hips shifting accommodatingly with the movement of his shoulders.

He could feel Goody's eyes burning on his face as he guided his tip into the still-soft entrance that'd felt so much like heaven to even just his fingers.

The name he'd taken as his own, hummed on laboured breaths as he slowly worked himself past the tight resistance. Goody's legs slowly tightening an invitation, but Billy's eyes were squeezed tight, trying to listen to the sense that told him to go slow. He never wanted to hurt his too-hurt lover; never wanted Goody to regret offering his body. But Billy could only hold out so long.

Goody's hands were stroking his body, his voice a husky encouragement, and when he opened his eyes- the resistance released and there was only a tight, hot glove around him. And Goody's eyes glowing up at him.

A slow thrust made Goody's eyes drop closed, his breath catching and familiar hands gripping Billy's elbows. He wasn't sure how he hadn't lost control yet. The edge of ecstasy so close he could *taste* it. But the half-mad knowledge that Goody was letting him, *wanted* him so intimately close, reached deep inside at old knots and didn't let the edge take him.

Goody. Goody. Goody. It was a slow pulsing litany in his mind, pushing out a thousand other thoughts and feeling as his hips found a rhythm. And then slowly, Goody's already-familiar voice rose again. English was beyond Billy ability to decipher, but Goody made the feelings behind the words clear regardless of language, his babbling changing from encouragement to tense pleas.

The edge was creeping close, and wrapping his hand around Goody's cock as he found an angle he could apply some power from was as close to 'thinking' as he could manage. 

"Fuck yes! Mon amour. Take me, god yes-"

There was never a chance he could hold back the orgasm when Goody arched against him with a broken groan, slicking his hand and pulsing around Billy's cock, dragging him shouting into more uninhibited pleasure than he'd ever known.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mon cher = my dear  
> chéri = darling  
> mon amour = my love


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this chapter for someone who wanted Billy who likes to be a pest ;)

He was as weak as a new-born kitten, after, dropping down to lay on his side next to his panting lover. Staring at a face that he was starting to believe was going to be a part of his life for.. a while, at least. If they survived. 

As his own breath settled down, the last few minutes came back to him. From dropping his mask to.. he looked hard at that familiar face. He'd had 'mon cher' thrown at him from the moment they met. 'A casual term of address', Goodnight had said. There's been another in there that wasn't quite mon cher, but was close enough, and had echoed the same. But.. "What does 'amoor' mean?"

He knew he was right about it being different when Goody hesitated, eyes suddenly wary, but he answered, however slow and careful. "Mon amour. My.. love." 

And Billy tried to keep his mask, but that wasn't a word he'd actually expected, and he knew his eyes widened slightly before he clamped his lips tight. 'Love'?? He knew the southerner used language differently than most Americans he met, but that was still not a word he thought Goody would use carelessly. And the feeling, that it had ridden on, even just now, didn't feel.. fake.

Goody was watching him carefully at first, too obviously waiting for a negative response, but apparently noticed Billy's open reaction and said quietly before Billy could offer reassurance, "You have a beautiful smile."

Which drew Billy out of his confusion to stare hard at his lover. Old hurt still pulling at him, but unable to convince himself there was any lie behind the soft eyes of this man who was willing to let Billy into not only his life, but his body. Hell with it. He'd already lost his mask once, he'd be a fool to believe he wouldn't again. 

He couldn't help taking a long look at the man laying at his side, though. He'd traced Goody features as the man slept, but it was rare he stayed undressed for any length of time. His chest and shoulders were foreignly pale from never seeing the sun, completely opposite from the well-browned face Billy'd already gotten so used to. A tightness to the skin stretched over muscles, as it did over cheekbones, that spoke of years not eating any better than Billy had. Several nasty scars like white drawings of explosions on arms and shoulders, the light coating of almost soft hair turning coarse around their perimeter. Nothing perfect; but he still wanted it more than pretty much anything. If he never saw this again... Hell.

Goody was watching him, apparently knowing him enough already to know something was wrong. Keeping their eyes locked, Billy made himself smirk, too tense for it to be real, and shifted his hands as Goody's eyes dropped to his lips. Then he ran his fingers deliberately lightly up the soft skin along the man's ribs, his instinct rewarded with his lover's body trying to jackknife away from him as Goody cried out, "Fuck, you *bastard*-" edge of fury but three-quarters laughter, mirrored in the shocked expression on his face. 

And Billy firmly ignored every lesson he'd taught himself, and let himself laugh out loud as they wrestled, slick and naked across the mostly-soft ground, Goody alternating between trying to shove him away and trying to reach him to return the torture. Pleas and threats and wild whooping laughter from both of them until Goody laid on his back and raised his arms and begged gasping mercy, body still jerking from Billy's last touches.

Billy crouched over him, still shaking with laughter even as he took his hands away from their playground and laid them on the ground next to Goody's shoulders, staring down at the man returning a wide smile up at him. His chest felt strangely as tired as though he'd just been through a running battle, even though neither of them had used more force than that necessary to roll a full-grown man. And as Goody settled down and dropped his arms on Billy's shoulders, hands loose behind his neck, Billy's laughter faded and the smile that stayed behind left him feeling the stiffness in his cheeks from the unaccustomed expression.

But Goodnight wasn't turning away in disgust. And even Billy had to admit that that soft look could only go with that so-foreign 'mon amour' he'd spoken before.

"Still beautiful?" His voice was rough from the laughter, but it was hardly a proper challenge, even if he couldn't help pushing. Wasn't ready to teach Goody a new word. Not yet.

His answer was gentle fingers sliding down to curl around his smooth jaw, thumb stroking the whiskers at the corner of his lips as he was pulled down. Goody's moustache tickled his lips when the man spoke, low and as solemn as the eyes fixed on his, blurringly close, "If the price of that smile is that you be a merciless sonuvabitch to me, Billy Rocks, I'll pay it every day of my life."

 

It took only seconds with anyone else present for him to remember himself: that hadn't changed. But when it was just the two of them, Billy slowly taught himself to allow his reactions, even the darker ones, to show. Picked up Goody's annoying habit of speaking his mind.. sometimes at length; and then had to catch himself and strangle that when in public. But with Goody always at his side, loud and outgoing and the centre of every eye, it was actually easier to keep the mask. 

The few challenges that actually snuck past Goody to get to him immediately resulted in Goody dropping whatever conversation he was in and swivelling to face the fool. It wasn't that Goody wasn't fully aware Billy could take care of himself, but Billy knew the man not only wanted to protect him, simply out of care, but also felt, too often, that he needed to 'pull his weight'. Billy's pride mostly didn't mind; not when he knew he'd have Goody's back when things actually went sour.

But in private, away from anyone other than his lover, Billy slowly remembered how to tease; how to *play*. And even knocked at his hazy memories to remember how to woo, for all that Goody never seemed to need it, freely showering Billy with every affection; at least when he wasn't lost in a nightmare. But even then, he still let Billy near, let him care for him and ground him. And in turn provided that grounding for Billy, just by being there. 

Looking back, over the years, he'd wonder how he'd managed to last a month; torn between calling himself a fool to not have given in sooner, and feeling just a touch of pride at his stubbornness in the face of Goody's blandishment (damn! More of Goody's words!). 

And it wasn't until they started riding with a pack of 'strays' toward pretty much certain death that he found a few other people he could bring himself to relax his mask for. At least a little.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ..I can't believe my dictionnary had sunuvabitch in it but not 'snuck'


End file.
